"I came into town to buy canvases and colors. That's how I happen to be in Ausone. It's only an hour's drive to Saïs. Why don't you come back with me? Saïs is a pretty hamlet. Few people have ever heard of it. The Golden Peach is an excellent inn. Why don't you run down and lie snug for a while? It's the last place on earth anybody would think of looking for a man who's done—what I suppose you've done."
Halkett, who had been listening with a detached smile, jerked his head around and looked at Warner.
"What do you suppose I've done?" he asked coolly.
"I think you're a British officer who has been abroad after military information—and that you've got it—in this envelope."
Halkett's expressionless face and fixed eyes did not alter. But he said quietly:
"You are about the only American in France who might have been likely to think that. Isn't it the devil's own luck that I should pick you for my friend in need?"
Warner shrugged:
"You need not answer that implied question of mine, Halkett. My theory concerning you suits me. Anyway, I believe you are in trouble. And I think you'd better come back to Saïs with me."
"Thinking what you think, do you still mean to stand by me?"
"Certainly. I don't know what's in your damned envelope, do I? Very well; I don't wish to know. Shall we stroll back to the Boule d'Argent?"